Umbrella
by vividfantasy7
Summary: ""Mister Holmes," she greeted and waited for a reaction. Sherlock Holmes' older brother, or the British government as the consulting detective liked to refer, was not someone you just run into on the streets randomly." Or how to pick up your brother's pathologist, Mycroft style.


Oh, I can't believe I went there. Srsly, what's with me and my guilty love for crack pairings? Anyways, can be found on my tumblr too =)

* * *

Swirling the elegant black umbrella overhead Mycroft Holmes walked down the street, rain pelting heavily from the heavens above. The day started out promising a cloudless sunny sky, but it soon turned into the typical weather autumn brought with itself.

With another twirl he turned the corner of the street, his destination in sight. He barely took a few feet when someone exited the building, a light blue folded umbrella in hand, closing the door with a screech an oiling could easily cure. He felt a smirk steal it's way into his features as he closed the space with quick and noiseless strides.

Molly Hooper had a long day at Bart's. Two of her colleagues were on holiday and one on maternity leave, which meant she had to take more cases than normally, which in response meant more paperwork to be done. And she had dreaded paperwork. It was monotonous, tiring and most of all, boring. But it needed to be done so she worked dutifully on it, if not as enthusiastically as on the cadavers on her frigidly cold slabs. Now standing outside the entrance of the hospital her bag on her shoulder and her umbrella in hand, she was more than ready to go home, put on some music and immerse herself in a novel with Toby in her lap. Maybe some baking was in order too, she promised to visit her family over the weekend.

With that thought in mind she went to open her umbrella only to find that it would not open under her ministrations. After a few tries she finally managed to open it, only for it to make unsatisfied noise and twist itself into a rather unnatural looking pose rendering it unusable. The pathologist uttered an angry scoff before sighing in defeat and looking out into the heavy rain. She should get a cab quickly, she thought to herself as she braved the weather and headed toward the main road.

She barely took two steps out of the hospital's dry haven when the rain stopped.

It wasn't to say the brown tall man preferred walking, especially in the rain, when he could easily take a car to take him to any destination he wished, but he was aware that she did. The older Holmes brother, just like his younger sibling, was also aware of the brunette's schedule and so it was rather easy to estimate her exact departing time out of the gates of the establishment.

His smirk widened as her protection against the rain malfunctioned. He quickened his strides and arrived next to her as she stepped out from under the arch of the hospital, barring the torrential off her person.

"Miss Hooper," he greeted pleasantly as if this was an everyday occurrence.

Molly swirled around at the sound of her name, automatically correcting to "Doctor Hooper," and almost took a step back and out into the rain when she realized who was offering her shield from the storm. His gaze seemed to light up at her reaction as his smile stretched on his face elegantly. She felt her cheeks warm up, the telltale signs of a blush, as familiar eyes bore onto her soul and she fought against the urge to avert her own brown orbs.

"Mister Holmes," she greeted and waited for a reaction. Sherlock Holmes' older brother, or the British government as the consulting detective liked to refer, was not someone you just run into on the streets randomly. She tried to recall anything that might have happened around Sherlock, that she was aware of, that warranted the visit she was getting at the moment. She sighed inwardly as no such memory came to her.

Mycroft twirled his umbrella above them out of habit as she watched the woman obviously contemplate his motives for visiting her. Well, his brother did not have the tendency to surround himself with idiots after all.

"I was hoping you would accompany me for coffee," his voice was clipped but pleasant, the deep baritone warming her heart for reasons she'd rather not think about. _Must be about Sherlock, _she mused inwardly and accepted the invitation.

He led her to a cozy café a few streets down, opening the door and helping her take of her barely wet coat before pulling the seat out for her. _Quite the gentleman_ Molly thought as she remembered that barely any of her _dates_ had been as attentive as the man before her had been so far. They ordered, she a vanilla latte and he an espresso, and Molly barely let the waiter out of earshot when she brought up the topic on her mind.

"What would you like to know?" she asked, her tone even and calm. Just because Sherlock had her mind and tongue in a nervous knot did not mean she would let the older Holmes have the same effect on her. Not if she could help it anyway, as seemingly good looks and intelligence ran in the family.

Mycroft waited for their waiter to leave after placing their orders before looking her in the eyes and smiling with satisfaction. Well, her deductions would be right on any other day. _But not now_, he smirked inwardly as he sipped his beverage.

"What are your plans for the upcoming weekend?" Molly winced inwardly at the question. She had made it perfectly clear for everyone, including a petulant behaving-like-five-year-old consulting detective and his conscience who looked on with a please-shoot-me expression on his friends reaction ("And what if something happens Molly? I can't work with those uncooperative dimwits!" "Sherlock!") that she was visiting family and thus be unavailable this weekend. She had been planning it for over two months and no one, _no one_, was going to sabotage it. Not even Mycroft Bloody Holmes. And anyways, when did it get so bad for Sherlock that he would ask Mycroft for interference?

"I'm going to visit my family," she tried to muster as much strength into her sentence that not even he could take it as anything else than a statement. He seemed to be pleased with her answer which kind of freaked her out if she was honest with herself. "And when are you planning to leave, if I may ask?"

_As if you don't bloody know_ she screeched internally. Or may be not as internally as she'd like as he was suddenly grinning at her predatory. "I could, but I thought you might appreciate if I rather asked you personally about that information." Molly wished she could burrow her face in her palms, but she was thirty and not thirteen so she opted to take a long sip of her latte instead.

"I'm leaving Saturday morning," the brunette elaborated as she placed down her cup to stare at the tall man across her. His smile did not falter as he inquired, "Then your Friday night is free I assume," he stated. He frigging had the audacity to phrase it as a statement and not a question. Molly took a calming breath as different scenarios run through her mind on how she would be roped into helping someone or assisting to something she had no desire to. Did she mention she also took that particular Friday afternoon off too? Because she did, and she would be not sacrificing it for a Holmes. None of them. With that in mind she managed to not grit out her answer of "I have plans," between her clenched jaw which was not lost on Mycroft Holmes.

"Hm, Elizabeth Gaskell is no doubt interesting," god, he didn't even try to mask his utter disinterest, "but I believe my proposal would be much more enjoyable. For the both of us, preferably," he stated as he stood and pocketed his mobile -_when did he took it out anyway_- and stood next to her. She barely registered the movement as he took her smaller hand into his and placed a gentle and warm kiss on the back of her knuckles.

With an "I shall pick you up at seven o'clock, then," he waltzed out of the café to the black car waiting for him leaving a dumbfounded, and slightly twitching, Molly Hooper -_did he just_arrange_a date with her?_- with her unfinished vanilla latte and his already dry umbrella.

* * *

Because in my head canon Molly Hooper is assertive and strong headed who takes noone's bullshit. It's just that Sherlock Holmes is having an interesting effect on people, and well, that's hers B) and because the way people like to portray her as some stuttering, blushing prepubescent _idiot_ is pissing me off. She is a pathologist (and probably there goes Moffat's reference to sociopathy, i mean she's cutting up cadavers for a living) who bloody finished a medical school. I mean I study F&A and in the strongest school in that in my country and probably still hardly compares to the shit wannabe doctors have to go through for twice the time I do. So all respect to Molly Hooper.


End file.
